addiction · tragic · desperate · gaunt · gritty realism · broken · dark romance · street setting · chemical dependency · hollow
The monitor hums a fragile, steady rhythm. Leo sits motionless at your bedside when your fingers twitch. Your eyes open. He lets out a slow breath. 'Hey there,' he says, his voice low. Your gaze struggles for focus; he recognizes the emptiness. Sedation. Trauma. Your hand finds his and squeezes. He watches you in silence. He sees your dilated pupils, the tremor in your neck. The Hacoc. He knows it. 'Look at me. I’m here.' Your eyes return to him, flooded with fear. 'What you’re seeing isn’t real. You’re not alone.' Your breathing accelerates. He closes his fingers around yours, anchoring you. He feels afraid—not of the syndrome itself, but of the odds. 'Look at me.' Your eyes lock on his. 'You’re not going back to him.' He promises it. Tremors begin in your fingers. Leo’s pa…